


Crinkled Blue Paper

by Casandravus



Category: Princess Tutu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casandravus/pseuds/Casandravus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t have to wear it, but if… If, by chance, a miracle happened, he still wanted to give it to her - crinkled though it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crinkled Blue Paper

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paper Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949439) by [BluSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluSakura/pseuds/BluSakura). 



Monday’s assembly describing the Trading Heart Game left Fakir flummoxed. When he saw Ahiru afterward, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes; he dodged her questions about it and said he was tired. _She’d never give her heart to me._

On Tuesday, his fingers wouldn’t stop itching. He wrote a story about a useless tin soldier and a gorgeous ballerina, and how he overcame all just to be nearby. He burned it before she came home; it wouldn’t do for her to read an impromptu love confession. _I basically confessed in the Lake of Despair anyway, and what good did it do me?_

Wednesday: Their human teacher, Mr. Cat (who really did remind Fakir of Neko-Sensei, if he was being honest) talked about marriage and the fine art of ballet with the boys. Femio fainted and Mytho came to visit; Fakir was thankful that Ahiru was with the girls in another room. _Maybe… She still loves him after all._

Thursday brought more gossip, more stupidity, and writing names on hearts. People started clamoring to Hermia, begging her to deliver their hearts; it was only under strict ruling by the professor that she had to object. _At least I won’t get another stupid love letter…_

Friday came to him with a sharp jolt from a nightmare. Tutu - Ahiru - had been killed by the ghost night. He rubbed his temple and sighed, looking out the window to check the time. It was just barely sunrise, but sleep was beyond him. His eyebrow twitched. _I wish I hadn’t gotten up today._

***

When Fakir opened his door, he saw the dreaded heart. A piece of blue construction paper on twine and his own frenzied scrawl. Somewhat grateful that he was up so early, he had a debate with himself. “Do I take the stupid thing or throw it out? If I do take it, what do I do with it…? Agh, it’s too damn early for this,” he finished, snatching the thing and shoving it in his pocket. 

He didn’t have to wear it, but if… If, by chance, a miracle happened, he still wanted to give it to her - crinkled though it was. 

***

_That’s twelve_ , he thought sourly. _Twelve girls, and it’s not even noon. How long must this blasted day be?_ He frowned, still exhausted from the lack of sleep and disappointed that he’d yet to see Ahiru. Last year, it hadn’t been so bad; only the upper students were involved, and it was voluntary. This year they’d changed the rules to accommodate the influx of new students on campus.

“Fakir, you’re not wearing one?”

Fakir’s look at his cousin was nothing short of incredulous. “You’re kidding me. You - of all people - _you_ are participating in this?” 

“Who am I to go against tradition?” Autor asked easily, adjusting his glasses. “Why aren’t you wearing one as well? Isn’t there someone in particular that you -?” 

“No,” Fakir scowled, “there’s no one.” As the two cousins finished their conversation, Femio made his signature entrance - bull included. He fainted, and Fakir’s eyebrow twitched again. He _hated_ this day. 

*** 

There she was on the fountain, their usual spot. Fakir’s fingers itched for a quill, so he could capture the way the sunlight caught her hair and… A sudden wave of nausea hit him. This was one of only a few times he’d dreaded seeing her, but he straightened his shoulders and walked forward. _I can’t be afraid anymore._

Arisa halted him, asked if she’d accept his heart. _Thirteen_ , he thought to himself. “No, sorry,” he answered, walking around her to reach Ahiru. 

Before he knew it, he was in front of her. “I hate this day,” he told her flatly, stopping himself short when he saw the paper heart hanging on her neck.

“A-ah,” she shifted uncomfortably. “Fakir? A-are you okay?” 

_Way to go, moron,_ he fumed silently. _You’re worrying her._ After a few moments of glaring at it, he put his hands in his pocket - crushing his own heart in his hand - and turned. 

“F-fakir? Don’t be mad…” 

He turned his head to meet her eyes, and he struggled to veil the anger - the pain - he felt. “Why would I be mad? I just remembered that I have somewhere to be right now,” he said, taking a few steps. 

His need for her to know, to understand, stopped him. He sighed. “I hope that… Whoever that belongs to takes good care of it. If he doesn’t, you let me know and I’ll hunt him down for you.” 

_I promised forever, and I meant it_ , he thought to himself. _Even if this is all we are._ It didn’t make his heart ache any less. It didn’t make him love her any less. It didn’t - 

“Oof!” Ahiru thudded against his back and fell to the ground. 

“Moron, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s for you,” she said softly.

Before this point in his life, he’d been surprised by many things. He’d seen wonders, fought the fates, and helped a duck-turned-girl defeat a power far beyond any of them… Yet the set of her jaw and the look in her eyes as she offered him her paper heart… It was _glorious_.

“I know you’re not wearing a heart today, and I know you probably don’t like me in _that_ way. I’m okay with that, really. But… Still, I really would like it if you’d just… Keep it or something. Please?”

His breath hitched. _She… Feels the same…_ Suddenly his fingers itched to write another story, but this had to be finished first. He took her heart and used his other hand to quickly grab his own heart and shove it toward her. 

“Wha - ?” Ahiru asked, sounding particularly duck-like. “Fakir, you… Kept yours?” 

Face flushed with self-consciousness and a new dose of shyness, he barked out, “Do you want it or not!?” but despite his harshness, he softened ever so slightly at her hand covering her face. 

“All this time, you had yours!?” 

“Just take it!” he said gruffly, avoiding her gaze at his ever-reddening face. “What!?” he barked after noticing a group of bystanders. He didn’t realize he could be so embarrassed of his own emotions. The redhead hadn’t even gotten this much of a response when she was naked after transforming. Fakir decided to not explore that train of thought. 

Turning back to Ahiru, he took a breath. “L-look, moron! It’s not that I still don’t think this is, above all, the stupidest tradition, but… It was a waste of paper to just toss it out like that anyway!” 

As soon as the excuse slipped from his mouth, he cringed. She wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it, and it was a poor line. 

“Uh… C-can I… wear it? So people can see?” 

“Do what you want with it; it’s yours.” _My heart is yours_ , he reflected. _It’s always been yours._

He lifted hers over his head, tucking the paper beneath his shirt. He wanted her name close to his heart. Stepping outside of his stoic self, Fakir quickly kissed her cheek before giving a short pull to her braid and running to the library. 

Even when he got inside, he could hear Ahiru, Pique, and Lillie scream with joy. 

***

Years later, a piece of crinkled blue paper chained on twine hung on their daughter’s nursery wall. 

A corresponding piece of red paper laid safely in his writing desk, ever close to the passion of his heart.


End file.
